Abandon
by Kadrian
Summary: Yassen-centric: in which a powerful businessman, in order to avoid paying Yassen the fee for his services, has his brother go after Yassen, who is just as, if not more skilled than Yassen. [Fic-Exchange for SpyFest 2019]


**[Fic-Exchange for SpyFest 2019]**

**Prompt:** Yassen-centric: in which a powerful businessman, in order to avoid paying Yassen the fee for his services, has his brother go after Yassen, who is just as, if not more skilled than Yassen.

A.N.: Not a lot of things (background info) are properly explained but I hope it'll suffice. Also un-betaed and probably tons of errors : ) if I have not scared you away, welcome.

* * *

_"Are we liberated because we have severed our ties or are we free because we do not know the meaning of freedom?"_

**Cartmire County, Wales. Creos street. August 4****th****. 7:16 P.M.**

"Several years ago, a simple yet brilliant idea has set in motion five years of development..."

The woman, standing behind the wooden podium, faced the energized crowd of hundreds. The large stadium was dimmed so that only the stage center was illuminated. From the ground, the platform was almost a meter in height. If one were to lean in close, leveling their eyes to the flooring of the stage, they could see the scuff marks all over the wooden floor that was once polished to the last plank. Behind the podium was a pair of high heels the woman stood in. Her legs were clasped in a pair of black tights. A little further than halfway down her thigh was a far down as the navy blue dress she wore would go. It hugged her figure modestly. She was wearing a necklace, silver in color, around her neck and the thin chain rested over her collarbones.

"Five years of hard work and backing of a large team of scientists," she continued. Her lips were painted a light red and her face was flawless under a thin layer of makeup. "Five years of closed-door development…"

Outside, the night streets were in harmony. Besides the few cars zooming by now and then, it was quiet. The stadium that was hosting the conference was seated near the heart of the city. In the morning, the traffic was overwhelming but at night, it had eased up. It was as if the people recognized and respected the importance of silence.

A block away, a man stepped out of the taxi after paying the fare in full, not a penny more or a penny less. He shut the door. The taxi drove away. On top of the car, the vacant sign lit back on again. The man watched it leave before setting down the black briefcase on the ground. He pulled up his sleeve. Under the street light, the watch glinted. The man watched the seconds hand roll over the twelve. Right on time. He picked up the case again and began walking.

"..And finally, in a few weeks, we here at Prodos will be releasing the next-generation technology that will forever change the way we see the world," the woman was saying. "That's what we're all here for, isn't it? To be one of the first to witness the technology. Right here. Tonight."

The man stopped outside the tall building that resembled a high-end hotel more than anything. On both sides were small elegant signs pointing the guests toward the location of the stadium inside. He was in the right place. Two formally clad guards stood in front of the revolving doors at the front. He walked along, passed the building. 152 seconds. The man entered the next-door building.

"...Tonight, the founder of Prodos and the mastermind of this technology will make a special appearance to introduce the new product: Pries. The technology of Pries will grant the blind the chance to see and, not only that, the computer chip within will give users the next-level digital interface in which knowing the wind speed, temperature, and enhancing and magnifying the view among others in a moment's notice will be within your grasp and no longer a fantasy…"

On the blackened third floor, the man brushed aside the curtain and opened the window. The briefcase was set down. Black, gloved hands quietly unlocked the hatches and eased open the top. With the skills of a veteran in the field, the man assembled the parts. The stand upon which he rested the body of the cold metal came last after the scope was firmly attached on top. He set it aside on the ground and rearranged the table to position himself better. 463 seconds. The glass panel separating the outside from the stadium was easily penetrable but still necessary to be considered. The man pressed his cheek against the metal, a steady finger curling toward the trigger. He lined up his scope, hearing the words spoken by the woman by reading her lips.

"Let's welcome Mister Graham Cain, our dearest founder." The clapping took over after her last word. She turned, black heels firmly planted, and walked to the side. In the middle, Graham Cain met her and smiled, shaking her head. The scope that had been tracking her and moving to the right shifted back to the left again. The mop of gray hair that sat atop the head became the focus. The businessman waved to the crowd, leaned into the speaker on the podium, and said his first word.

The finger pulled. There was no hesitation. The man sat back up again and disassemble the parts. They went into the briefcase. 501 seconds. A body fell onto the floor. The microphone caught the sound. He left just as the crowd began screaming. The cries came through the hole the bullet had made through the glass and spilled into the calm evening air.

792 seconds. Right on time.

**Keylint, Wales. Intersection of 5****th**** and 3****rd**** avenue. August 5****th****. 2:59 P.M.**

The first time Yassen met Aaron Klause had been outside a small corner cafe and it'd gone surprisingly civil, considering the few rather _uncivil meet_ they would have later on. It was three hours past noon when Yassen arrived. Like him, Aaron Klause had donned formal attire, complete with a blue, patterned tie.

"G4," said the man in greeting, referring to the code name Yassen was to go by to clients. It was almost ironic because Aaron Klause already knew his name. Of all the assassins in Scorpia, they had asked for him by name.

"Mister Klause," replied Yassen.

"Just Klause." Aaron Klause said. "Mister Klause is my brother."

Yassen inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the useless information. They wouldn't meet again. There was no point in remembering. Klause reached under the desk and slid across the table a brown briefcase. "Here is the payment as promised by my brother."

The briefcase inched forward with another push but Yassen did not reach out to take it. "Payments are not paid to me but to whom I work for."

"They will receive it by the end of the day. This," Klause pointed at the case, "is a tip."

Yassen stood, politely declining it. "If that is all, I must get back."

"You'll decline something from Arthur Klause?" asked Klause. "My brother is a generous man, I can tell you that. There is no string attached to this if that's what bothers you."

"His gratitude I have received and I thank you. This is unnecessary and wholly unprofessional to accept."

"Which is it?" Klause sat back in his seat. "Unnecessary or unprofessional? Are you refusing because you have no needs for it or because of policies?"

"Both," replied Yassen. "But please don't mistake 'unprofessional' for greed."

Klause said, "Then think of this as part of your job. It'll reflect well on your customer service."

Knowing that the man would not stop until he accepted and not wanting to cause trouble for Scorpia by refusing, Yassen gently opened the briefcase by a fraction. The money was stacked neatly atop one another in a 4 by 3 by 2 formation. He lifted the briefcase with two thumbs. It was heavy, heavier than what was to be expected. Yassen glanced at Klause who was still seated. The man was waiting for him to depart with the case.

"Then I thank you for the gesture," said Yassen as he clipped the hatches back on and grabbed the handles.

"Of course. Pleasure doing business with you." The man offered to shake hands. Yassen declined.

Yassen left without another word. By the street, he flagged down a taxi and got in. The vacant light on top turned off right as the door shut. Seated in the backseat, Yassen said something to the driver that Klause could not read sitting on the outside. The brother presumed it was a direction. The car pulled away and Klause followed it with his eyes, his head turning. The windows were slightly shaded and as the distance grew, Yassen's figure became fainter. In the car, Yassen's movement mirrored the man's, watching the man out of his peripheral vision. Klause remained seated. The car turned a corner and both sides lost view of each other. Yassen turned back to face the road.

The driver took him to the nearest hotel as Yassen had directed. Yassen told him to keep the change. A draught of cold wind from the overhead conditioner ruffled his hair as Yassen entered, pushed the door open by its golden metallic handle. Past the door, the red carpet ended abruptly and became smooth marble. His shoes clicked with every step but the sound was drowned out by the incoherent cacophony of chatters and the sounds of other footsteps. He glanced around, looking for directions. There was a sign hanging by the wall, giving the essential directions: reception desk, pool, lounge, diner, restroom. He followed the last arrow farther down. Before the elevator but after the potted plant was a short corridor. The sign pointed inward to the end. Outside the restroom was a parked cleaner's cart. The yellow keep-out sign was placed before the door, notifying the guests the floor in the restroom was still wet.

Yassen turned and entered. There was nobody inside and there wouldn't be for a while. Opening the doors of one of the stalls, Yassen balanced the briefcase on the lid of the toilet. He closed the door, watched it for a second. It wasn't satisfying but it should be enough. On the way out, he pushed the cart until it reached the start of the corridor and placed the 'do not enter sign' in front. Taking a step farther out, Yassen kept his head down and once again immersed himself into the scope of the security cameras.

He took another taxi back to his apartment on the fifteenth floor of a high rise. The driver was a chatty one who found happiness in monologue. The man didn't seem to mind Yassen's quietness and didn't comment much on it when Yassen refused to answer his first few questions. Yassen gave him a tip before he left.

From his chest pocket, Yassen pulled out the card and pressed it against the black surface. The light turned green. A lock unbolted itself from the inside. He let himself in, closed the door, turned on the lights, unbuttoned his jacket, and draped it over the back of a chair. Then he drew the curtain halfway aside. The window opened with a push. The view wasn't magnificent but it was modest. With the noise of the city in the background, he went to the fridge and poured himself a cup of cold water. A few ice blocks dropped from the dispenser, sending droplets of water onto his bare hands. He wiped them off with a towel draped on the oven handle, sat down, turned on the TV.

It had been almost twelve minutes since he'd left the briefcase and—ah, there it was. The report on-screen was standing in front of the hotel he'd just left. Smoke was billowing out from the front door, masking the interior with its grey. From its mouth streamed out people with their sleeves covering their nose and mouth. The camera shifted for a better focus but it was unable to see past the fuming cloud. The building itself was intact, fortunately. It would take them a while to evacuate. Therefore the casualty report would come later. Yassen stood up and proceeded to make himself a sandwich. Considering how Arthur Klause and his brother had tried to kill him, a piece of ham for the sandwich would be well-deserved, albeit barely.

A plate in hand, Yassen sat back down to watch the news. The fire brigade had already arrived, their trucks barely making it into the frame. As if understanding his wish, the camera shifted to the red firetrucks and then to the suited firemen rushing into the building. They seemed to have discovered the location and maybe even the source if it hadn't been blown to smithereens yet.

His phone buzzed. JR, the caller ID read. Uppercase. Yassen set down his sandwich and dutifully answered the call. "Ma'am."

"We've yet to receive the payment."

"The client wishes to tell you that it will be transferred before the end of today."

"It better be," Julia Rothman replied. "If not, it'd be your task to chase it down."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I take it the bomb was you?"

"It was a negotiation failure on my part, ma'am."

"Do not let it happen again."

"Yes, ma'am."

She hung up. Yassen picked up his sandwich again. They'd began tallying the wounded but there had yet to be any dead. There wouldn't be any, Yassen knew. He had done his estimation, although rough on the numbers. At the very maximum, he would pay the wounded a visit tomorrow at the hospital to express his _sincere _apology. On the screen, the smoke was beginning to clear, no longer a thick opaque grey.

"...traces of explosives were found in the first-floor restroom…" the reporter was saying. Yassen tuned her out again, walking to the window. Twelve minutes of drive had put him a distance away from the scene and the nearest buildings blocked the view. However, he could spot the ladders on the firetrucks and the remnants of smoke drifting into the afternoon sky.

Yassen finished his sandwich and downed the last bite with ice clinked back to the bottom as the glass emptied. From the drawer by the sofa, Yassen pulled out his laptop. By the way things had progressed, it didn't sound like Arthur Klause was going to pay them. It was either that or they were unsatisfied with Yassen's service. Personally, Yassen could admit there were flaws in his execution. In an ideal situation, he would have laid a plastic sheet beneath the man so that the blood would not seep into the wood floor. Scrubbing the platform clean would not be an easy task and Yassen did not intend to create the problem for the cleaners.

He pulled up the page of Arthur Klause's company, Klause Enterprise. Underneath the contact tab were several numbers to connect him to different departments. If Arthur Klause was not going to pay, Yassen would have to see him personally. From the second drawer, Yassen grabbed a burner phone and dialed the fourth number he found. He picked up the small notebook beside the phones.

"Hello, Klause Enterprise reception. How may I help you?"

"I'd like to schedule an appointment with Mister Arthur Klause."

The man on the other end was silent for a brief moment. "May I have a name?"

Yassen flipped to the third page in the notebook, a finger going down the list. "Thomas Daniel."

"Mister Daniel, let me patch you to Mister Klause's assistant. Please hold." The man ended the call and a few moments later, a woman picked up. "Hello."

"Hello," replied Yassen. "I'd like to schedule an appointment with Mister Arthur Klause."

She chuckled. "I'm sorry but I think you have the wrong number. This isn't a dental clinic. I'm afraid we don't schedule appointments like that."

"My apologies, but I'm aware of that. I'd like to meet Mister Klause. He and I need to discuss something important."

"Ah, does he know you?"

"He knows of me."

She told him to hang on a second before presumably going to ask Arthur Klause if he'd heard of a man named Thomas Daniel. She returned, sounding annoyed. "Mister Klause does not know your name. I'm sorry but if you want to—"

"Tell him it's about the payment."

"The payment? For what?"

"He'll know."

"Please hold."

Her irritation was shown through a huff of breath as she set the phone down. Yassen waited patiently. The TV was still on the scene of the explosion. By now, a thin grey mist was all that was left of the smoke. Circumscribing the scene were yellow tapes hanging between poles. They fluttered in the wind as if desperately reaching out to those passing by. The scene took a step back as the policemen began pushing the civilians back from the scene. Judging by the way they were reacting and the incoming brigades, they seemed to be suspicious of a second bomb.

Yassen wished he could call them and let them know that it was all safe. It'd save not only time but also taxpayers' money.

The secretary came back. "Mister Klause will see you tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock in his office."

"That'd be on the sixteenth floor at Klause Enterprise?"

"Ask the receptionist instead. You'll need an escort. It's for security purposes, I hope you understand."

"Of course," Yassen replied politely. "I'd do the same if I were him. Thank you." He let her hung up on him.

Then Yassen set the phone on the glass table and went to the wardrobe pushed up against the wall. He took great care in picking out a suit that was modest in color but with fabric and texture that would leave the impression of a generous rather than selfish man. After all, the first impression was one of the most important meetings between two people. Yassen wanted to leave a good impression for the man who refused to pay him. Partially it was in hopes that Arthur Klause's inner virtue would triumph and the man would agree to pay. In the case that it turned to violence, Yassen had chosen the suit with a sizable pocket to hold a few weapons with. He set the chosen attire out on the smooth table before heading back to the sofa. His attention was returned to the screen.

**Keylint, Wales. Klause Enterprise. August 6****th****. 9:45 A.M.**

Yassen arrived at the building. Even now, the roads were taken up by rush-hour cars. The taxi ride had been stifling and a little traumatizing for the driver had a bad case of morning breath. The man had refused to crack the window open by more than a third of an inch because the exhaust was spewing out of cars from all around them and it was allegedly damaging to the lungs. Before Yassen left the taxi, he let the man know that not brushing his teeth might cause lung diseases as well. Bacteria could travel to the lung through droplets of saliva. The man looked frightened. Yassen didn't give him a tip.

In his hand was a small briefcase and in it were a few pieces of paper. They were contracts that Arthur Klause had signed when hiring Yassen. In the case that the man conveniently forgot he'd hired Yassen in the first place, the documents would come in handy.

The receptionist told him to wait. Yassen glanced around at the available seats. Eventually, he took a seat in one of the few metal chairs. The rest of the seats were either sofas or beanbags. The comfort they provided was at the detriment of appearance and agility—Yassen needed to appear prime and proper. Besides, he could not sacrifice the freedom of movement for something as measly as a beanbag. It was a shame.

A woman in red high heels came down a few minutes later. When she spoke, Yassen recognized her tone and voice as the secretary. "You must be Mister Thomas Daniel."

"And you must be the Ms. Secretary," Yassen replied when she didn't offer her name. His eyes landed on her name badge. Karen. What a befitting name.

She turned and led the way to the elevator. A few other formally suited worker joined them and the elevator was soon filled with small conversation between two colleagues. The lanyard around their necks ended behind the buttoned suit and their names on the card were effectively covered. Precisely half of the occupants had left before the sixteenth floor was reached. Karen got off the elevator as the door slid completely to the sides. Yassen followed a few feet behind and to the side.

Every step she took was curt, emphasized even more by the clicking of her heels on the vinyl floor. The flooring choice took Yassen mildly by surprise. The first floor and every other floor Yassen had a glimpsed off on the elevator ride were all covered by porcelain tiles. Lights had danced off the surface but for the vinyl floor, it was smoothed down like the slow falling sand within an hourglass.

"Mister Klause is waiting for you," she said. They stopped outside his office and she sat back down behind the counter.

Between Yassen and Arthur Klause was a glass divider. Arthur Klause waved him in with a hand and stood from his desk. At the wave, the door opened automatically, embracing the technological advance Klause Enterprise stood for. Yassen entered. He was immediately offered a seat and "Tea?" to which he politely declined.

While Aaron Klause was a man of a strong muscular physique, his brother Arthur Klause reminded Yassen of a frail man who had seen the sun only once per week. Sat before the man's eyes was a pair of thin black-framed glasses that stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. Bringing out the light complexion of his skin was the dark suit the man wore. Yassen noted with interest that the tie the man was wearing was blue and patterned.

"Not much of a tea person, I see," said Arthur Klause after pouring himself a cup. The man took a seat opposite of Yassen, fingers on his right hand drumming the leather arm of the sofa. They were fingers of a left-handed guitarist.

"I'm afraid I'm more of a water enthusiast," Yassen replied.

"Tea is but flavored water."

Yassen had the strangest urge to reply 'so is blood' but he kept it to himself. Instead, he offered a smile. "Perhaps."

Arthur Klause settled down after taking a sip of his tea. A drift of heat from the water dissipated into the air. "So," Mister Klause said, "you talked of payment."

"You've yet to pay what's due to my employer. They sent me to inquire and." Yassen paused. "Hopefully speed up the process."

"Given the nature of your business, I'm surprised you would show face. And walking right into my office on top of that."

"You should worry only about the payment. The rest we will clean up." Yassen stood, heading to the door until another thought came to the surface. "Oh, and please let your brother know that if he were to have me killed, explosions are not the way to go. Public unrest is not something to make light of." The corner of his lips twitched in an attempt to smile. It came out more as a warning, as Yassen had intended.

Arthur Klause opened his mouth then closed it, speechless. Yassen left and the assistant did not escort him out. He could only hope that Arthur Klause would pay his due before Ms. Rothman were to ask Yassen to inquire for a second time.

**Cartmire County, Wales. Cartmire County Police Department. August 6****th****. 10:30 A.M.**

It was halfway through the morning but it could've very well been night. The assassination of Graham Cain during the product premier night had turned the whole police department into a stadium of useless witnesses. There were a total of 452 official attendees whose statement they needed to record and that was not even including the people who had not gotten a ticket but still smuggled in to watch the premier.

The kill shot had been a clean one. In between the eyes, straight through. The bullet came from the building adjacent to the stadium house. From the incidence angle of the bullet, the detectives had concluded that the shot came from either the third or fourth-floor balconies. Because the balconies were relatively far from the stage and so close together, the angle at which the trajectory of a bullet from the third floor make with the ground was hard to differ from one from the fourth floor.

Everything about the kill was neat and it was frustrating. It was a professional job and so far nobody had stepped forward to take credits. When cases became as cleaned-up as this one, they usually would land in the unsolved case pile. However, because the victim this time was a famous businessman and entrepreneur, the higher-ups were demanding that it be tied up in a nice red ribbon as soon as possible—even if it meant finding an unfortunate scapegoat.

There were speculations made against Arthur Klause because Produs was the competition of Klause Enterprise. However, they couldn't point fingers without evidence and Graham Cain had made enemies with more than just Arthur Klause.

In the morgue, Katherine Cain stood before the body of her brother. The detective next to her kept his respectful distance. Graham's skin, when he had been alive, was perfectly tan. But now, death had come and washed away what remaining color he had until he was pale like a ghost. Katherine turned to the detective behind her.

"Did they find the killer yet?"

"No," the detective replied with a shake of his head. "But we are trying our best."

Katherine turned back to watch her brother. Twenty-six years. That was how long Katherine had known her brother for. They grew up together in the same house, shared the same clothes and toys, and knew each other like the back of their hands. They'd always had each other's back, no matter what. But this time, Katherine had failed to protect him.

"The funeral will be next week," said Katherine. "I want Graham's body to be transported here." She handed him the card to the funeral home she'd arranged on the way here. "And I want to know everything there is about my brother's assassination."

"I'm sorry but the case files are—"

"I'm his sister."

The detective shook his head. "I'm really sorry, Ms. Cain, but from here it's police business. The case files cannot be given to civilians."

Katherine glanced at the man in disguised frustration. She'd have to find another way then if the man was this stubborn. Wasn't his fault. He was merely doing his job. Katherine sighed and nodded, pretending to relent.

The detective seemed to breathe a little easier as well when he said, "The police department is trying our very best to catch the shooter. We will update you as soon as there is any new information."

"Thank you."

"It's the least we can do."

Katherine Cain stepped out of the police precinct and breathed in the air. It reeked completely of exhausts. She wrinkled her nose as she took out her phone and pressed the second number on her speed dial.

"Zeng, I need a favor."

**Keylint, Wales. Ashford st. Townhall Apartments. August 6****th****. 10:54 A.M.**

In his line of work, Yassen had learned to prepare his meal with groceries bought from a free market. He varied the markets too because, as the saying went, habit kills. But Yassen always woke at dawn and slept an hour before midnight, which was when his neighbor would come home and slam the door shut. At home, he had a regime but once he stepped outside, he had none. Truth be told, Yassen did not like the varying schedule because it meant he would have to plan out the day the night before. Although necessary, he found it annoying. The sound of the doorbell ringing came to his rescue just as he was worrying over the plan for the afternoon.

Yassen crossed the room and flipped open the panel to the left of the door. The camera control surfaced. The figure that appeared had a motorcycle helmet clamped beneath his right arm and a box on his other. It looked like pizza.

A delivery? Yassen hadn't ordered anything for the last decade. "You have the wrong apartment," said Yassen politely without opening the door.

"Uh." the young man took a glance at the address on a piece of paper. "This is number 8, building C, right? Thomas Daniel? That's what I have on here."

Ah. Perhaps it was another bomb from the brother. What a delightful evening surprise. Yassen opened the door. "I must've forgotten," said the assassin gracefully. "How much?"

"You already paid," the young man said politely. Then he gave Yassen a tight-lipped customer smile. "Gotta run. Enjoy your pizza, my friend. Best pizza only at Terro's Pizza Kitchen. Visit us again soon!" As he finished chirping, the boy ran off, fumbling to strap on his helmet to rush to his next delivery.

Yassen took the box and closed the door behind him. It was still warm and it did smell like pizza. Of the delivery boy, Yassen had no doubt he was innocent. The situation was almost puzzling. Would Klause really dare to plant a bomb inside a pizza box at the risk of a delivery boy? No, Yassen did not think so. Then did the man believe Yassen would eat the food? Most likely not, but Yassen had always make sure to overestimate his opponents.

He opened the lid slowly and carefully, a sleeve covering his mouth and nose. It was surprisingly unpleasant when the box did not explode. There was a note taped to the board and Yassen extracted it with a wrinkled nose. The paper had touched parts of the pizza and was now stained with blotches of oil and smelled like pepperoni pizza.

_I heard the money was blown up. A pity. Think of this as an apology. _

The note was unsigned but Yassen knew it had to be Aaron Klause. Yassen did not have a shredder because he never thought he needed one so he had to personally cut up the paper into tiny strips and pieces. He collected them into a tiny plastic bag. It was almost tempting to keep it for the paper had been fine, the kind that a company would print their special invitations on. Hardening his heart, Yassen headed out the door and chucked both the pizza and the bag down the garbage chute just by the end of the hall. His heart ached for the wasted food.

Yassen decided to take a nap but his phone untimely rang. It was Rothman again and the assassin had a feeling that the payment had not been received yet. Unfortunately, his conjecture was proven right.

"I have inquired," replied Yassen to Rothman's question. "Whether or not they have complied is not within my control."

"You better make it within your control."

"Yes, ma'am." This was why Yassen had tried to insist that they accepted the money first before agreeing to the job. Now look what they came to. Beggars. Yassen was good at killing but not good at begging because he had never tried and never would. Eventually, Yassen would end up killing the man he was to beg—which, he supposed, would defeat the whole purpose.

Suddenly not wanting to take a nap anymore, Yassen stood and headed out for a stroll. Perhaps even a run. They said exercising was a good source of serotonin, the happiness drug. However, he had other motives in mind.

Yassen kept his steps deliberately slow so that anybody following him would have no trouble keeping up. There was no one behind him, he knew, but he could sense the start of a presence on the other side of the sidewalk. Not wanting to scare the fish, Yassen took out his phone and began playing Flappy Bird—in his defense, the app came installed with the phone and the phone came from Scorpia. Perhaps Rothman had some sort of ill-fated connection to Flappy Bird. The assassin left the thought and did not dwell on it as he continued down the 3rd street.

At last 5th street and the corner cafe came into sight. There were still a few empty spots outside so Yassen took the one a little to the center where the umbrella provided him enough shade but not enough cover. If Aaron Klause were to take a position in the building opposite, he could easily snipe him. In the leg, no problem. But if the man wanted a headshot, he would have to move either lower or closer. All Yassen needed to do was to let Aaron know that his attempt at assassinating the assassin was pitiful and bound to fail. Better pay up.

The waiter asked if he wanted something to eat or drink. Yassen asked for water and the waiter looked perturbed and mildly disgusted. Compromising, Yassen asked for a small sandwich.

"Which one would you like?" Ah, there was the trademark customer smile.

"A small one," Yassen replied.

"Yes, but which kind would you like?"

"A small one."

She gave him a pained smile. "Would you like to try our special Double Turkey sandwich?"

"One that's preferably small," Yassen said. "The bread, the content, you can decide."

She left after he insisted again with the verbatim order. In the building adjacent, a curtain waved. Yassen sat up a little straighter, hoping that the sniper's scope would find him at an adorning angle. The water came first before the sandwich and thankfully it came in a plastic cup. Yassen remembered that, of a few restaurants he had gone to, they provided glass cups that had lipstick stains on the rims and smelled foul of beer.

A figure darkened the window panel. The tail of the curtain perked up again and a glint of metal briefly filled the dark. Yassen smiled. A rational assassin would typically abandon their position when the target—or anybody—made eye contact. Their position had been compromised and it would be unwise to take a shot until they made certain again that their environment had not been contaminated.

That was why a shadow fluttered over his eyes when the muzzle did not retract. It simply sat there quietly and peacefully. Yassen stood slowly, ready to leave when the girl came back with his small sandwich balanced on a tray.

"Here's your—"

She never got to finish before the bullet pierced her head. Yassen sidestepped to the right. The force of the bullet had marked a clear path through her head and embedded itself in the wood of a planter box. The waiter, her plate, and the sandwich all fell in a clattering mess onto the floor. The commotion drew stares and it didn't take them long before noticing the blood that had begun spilling out and into the sandwich and all over the floor. Occupants of the tables nearest to him lurched out of their seat in shock. A scream picked up and soon the cafe and the streets dissolved into a cacophony of horror. Yassen stepped back and melted into the panicking crowd.

The shrieking of the police siren slashed through the onlookers and drove to a stop at the end of the blocked traffic. Two policemen stepped out, trying to contain the situations even as they called for more backup. Soon, a yellow tape had established the boundary. The crowd, however, wasn't dispersing at all. In facts, like magnets, more and more of them were drawn to the scene.

In retrospect, Yassen had not noticed the waiter's return; neither did Aaron Klause, so it seemed. The barrel through the window had disappeared when he looked again. Drawn shut again was the curtain and there was no sign of any occupant. Feeling a little annoyed at the loss of innocent life, Yassen hailed a cab and headed back home.

Yassen supposed he had overestimated Aaron Klause's humanity.

**Cartmire County, Wales. Produs Headquarter. August 6****th****. 11:14 A.M.**

Katherine strode into the headquarter of Produs and took off her sunglasses. Along with the car keys, she dropped them into the messenger bag she carried over one shoulder. Her flats moved soundlessly across the smooth floor, passed the first stream of businessmen, passed the large welcoming reception area, and stopped. Somebody had cleared the self-service food table and had replaced it with a memorial of her brother. A bright smiling picture of him, framed and endorsed with ribbons, sat amid piles and piles of flowers and unlit candles. A couple stopped before the table and left another bouquet of flower.

She hurried away, blinking rapidly. All the way to her office, employees stopped and offered their condolence. "He was a remarkable leader," they would say. "He inspired us all." "I'm so sorry for your loss." Katherine walked briskly and she answered with politeness.

A large premier poster was still hanging behind the door of her office and she noticed it only after she'd closed the door. Her brother's name was plastered in bold font beneath the title. Without a second thought, Katherine took it down, rolled it up, taped the edges, and threw it in the trash.

A stack of reports awaited her atop her desk. They required her signature. With Graham gone, there seemed to be more reports and documents than usual. Katherine settled down and began leafing through them. The first few were regarding the product they were supposed to release two nights ago during the premiere night. The production would go on but they required a new supervisor. Graham hadn't seen his death coming but he had appointed a few managers and they would do just fine.

Graham was a genius when it came to speaking with the tech and teaching it how to think and act like a human. And yet, her brother was incapable of keeping himself alive, the simplest thing any creature was born to do. Katherine took a breath and pushed away her thoughts. Finding her brother's killer was more important than mourning over him before the funeral.

Zeng entered without a knock. Katherine looked up as the man took a seat.

"Nice sofa," said Zeng with a grin, feeling the leather. "I could use some in my office."

Katherine snorted. "If you like it, you can haul it off."

Zeng batted his hands. "Not today. I haven't been to the gym for ages. My arms are like noodles." Zeng wiped his face with his shirt and the smell of sweat made Katherine wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Ahh, God I smell," the man said.

"I'm so glad you realized. I thought I was the only one dying here," Katherine replied as she absently opened the first of the reports and signed her name at the bottom. Her brother had wanted the product out for the world to see so she would see it through no matter what. "How's the search I asked you to do? Did you find anybody suspicious?"

Zeng pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from his sports jacket and flattened it out with a dirty hand. "Nobody in particular until a few minutes ago. That's why I came." Zeng jerked his head at the TV. It was off. "Did you see the shooting?"

"Shooting?"

"Yeah, some girl got shot in Keylint," Zeng said. "Absolutely mad, I'd say, to do it in the middle of the day and in front of a whole lot of civilians too."

"In Keylint?" Katherine didn't understand. "That's Klause's territory. Is there something special about her? Did she have ties to Arthur Klause?"

"No, not her. She's not important." Zeng shook his head. "Now, let me go back a few hours in time. You told me to find if Arthur came in contact with anybody suspicious, right?"

"Right." Katherine worried her lips. The kill had been too professional. It had to have been a hired hit.

"So I dug through his recent contacts in three months and there's nobody suspicious. Just your typical business negotiations and meetings and things like that." Zeng smiled. "Until last night. I wiretapped his secretary's phone and she received a call from someone who wanted to schedule a meeting with her boss. The man said he wants to talk about some form of payment and that Klause would understand."

"Graham must've gotten a dozen of calls regarding payments per day; it's not unusual," Katherine said. "Did you find out what they talked about?"

"Nope."

"Useless."

Zeng huffed. "If you keep being like that I'll have to resign. I don't even get paid to do this job."

Katherine felt offended. "I pay you in friendship."

"Yeah? What can friendship buy? Can it buy me a drink? No. Can it get me a pay raise? No. Can it get me an AC? No." Zeng crossed his arms.

Katherine ignored him. "But you found something?"

Zeng eyed her before his eagerness won. "A few days ago, in Keylint, a bomb exploded in a hotel. Now, Keylint might be a busy chaotic place with Klause Enterprise dominating, but it's never been this violent. Actually, I've never seen a bomb and a shooting happening so close to each other. Robbing a shop, I'll overlook. Attacking some poor man on the street, fine. But this? Too big a coincidence."

"What does this have to do with the man who asked about the payment?"

"He was on the scene both times, just before the attacks happened." Zeng pointed out. "He entered the hotel and left only minutes before the bomb exploded. He was sitting right by the girl when she was shot."

"You think he's the killer? That he planted the bomb and killed the girl?" Katherine was not following.

"What? No," Zeng said hurriedly. "I'm saying that he's a victim. Think about it. He was sitting right behind the girl. What if it wasn't the girl that was meant to die?"

"And the bomb? He just left it in a hotel and waited for it to blow people up? How is he a victim in that?"

"Maybe he forgot it in the restroom."

"What a coincidence that he was lucky both times." Katherine pointed out.

"Aaron Klause, Arthur's younger brother, met with him the day after Graham…died," said Zeng and rushed on. "They met at the cafe and it was the brother who gave the man the briefcase."

"Maybe Aaron Klause instructed him to blow up the hotel."

"Nobody died, Kat. Absolutely zero, zilch, nada. The explosion, the police said, wasn't large enough to collapse a building but it would be enough to kill a man within proximity. I think Klause is trying to kill this man because he knows something that he shouldn't know."

"That's an awfully large jump in logic."

"I don't know if he's a friend or fowl, but I'm certain that he has something to do with your brother's death, especially with the timing of events." Zeng looked at her with seriousness. "I'll see if I can find him and get us a talk."

Katherine pushed the reports away and leaned back in her chair. It was a lead, perhaps even a good one, but whether or not in the right direction was up for debate. "Zeng, I'm not saying you're wrong. Rather, I might be wrong."

"...What do you mean?"

"I told you to look into Arthur Klause because I believe he had a hand," Katherine admitted. "But what if it's not Arthur? I thought of that man only because he's Graham's biggest rival and the two had a bad history between them."

"I support you because I have the same intuitions. The timing is too much of a coincidence. It might have something to do with the product Graham was releasing…" Zeng shrugged. "Besides, guilty until proven otherwise, right?"

"...That's not—"

"Good talk." Zeng grinned. "I'll be off now; the guys are spamming my phone. As soon as I have anything new, I'll drop by."

"Take a shower before then."

Zeng winked shamelessly. "Would you like to join me?"

"Get out."

Zeng left and dutifully shut the door behind him. He could hear Katherine picking up another report, a pen twirling adeptly between her fingers. It made him smile. Wiping his face with the edge of his sleeves, Zeng took his phone out of his pocket. It had been buzzing for a while now and they were mostly texts from his guys asking him to come play basketball.

Ah, that was right. It was Monday. Monday was a basketball day. However, Zeng had a more pressing matter at hand to be dealt with. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed the first number in the F category.

"Hey Fat Husky, you and your guys up for a job?" he asked cheerfully as the call connected.

"China Doll, who the fuck do you think we are? Your minions?" A pause. "What do you need?"

"I need a man killed."

"What, somebody spat on your shoes, China Doll? You know fucking well we ain't killing just 'cuz somebody pissed you off."

"It's for Kat. I need a clean job and I just thought of you."

"Flattered," the man on the other end growled. "Fine, but only for Kat. Who do you want killed?"

"Arthur Klause."

"Arthur Kl—Are you _fucking crazy_, you useless porcelain? _Kat _asked you to have him killed? My hairy ass. She ain't gonna like you going around making decisions for her."

"Kat thinks he killed Graham," said Zeng with a hardened tone. "Graham's like a brother to me, you know that. Hell, I'll even pay you triple for this job."

"China Doll—_Zeng_—listen. Graham's like a brother to us all but we can't go around killing people just like that. You want us to be vigilantes, fine, gladly, but we need something solid. Right now, all you have are words and that ain't cutting it. You bring us a brick and we will gladly screw the law and smash him in."

"...So you are not gonna accept the job?"

"I told you. It's not that we don't—"

"Fine. I'll do it."

The man barked out loud in laughter. Then he stopped. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Fine," the man stopped him. "Fine. My guys will do it. Give us a day to prepare but you better sit your yellow ass down and go nowhere near Klause. You fucking dimwit can't even swing a crowbar right. If you do it, you'll only mess Kat up."

"I need a clean job," Zeng reminded him. "I don't want him to come out looking like ground beef, alright? A bullet should do the job."

"Aye aye, China Doll. You better pay triple for this," the man muttered.

**Keylint, Wales. Klause Enterprise. August 7****th****. 8:00 P.M.**

Arthur Klause checked the clock on his desk again. Exactly eight. Ah, two seconds past eight now. Aaron was late by ten minutes. He drummed his fingers along the glass before standing and moving to the sofa. Arthur was about to pour himself a cup of tea before remembering that drinking tea this late at night would only cause him to be unable to fall asleep later. Instead, he heated the water and poured himself a warm cup of water. And he poured Aaron one too, knowing that it would most likely still be lukewarm when his brother got here. Aaron liked his drinks cold but warm water was good for his health.

Karen had gone home already. Arthur was in the middle of calculating the benefits and costs of waiting another minute for Aaron when someone knocked on the door. Arthur set down his cup and smiled. "Come in, Aar…" It was then he realized something was wrong: Aaron _never _knocked.

But the realization came too late and he felt himself being hauled back, a gloved hand over his mouth and another gripping the material of his suit tightly. Arthur struggled. He kicked out, flailing his arms in an attempt to hit something. They did. His hands connected sharply with a collarbone. A grunt was all he received before he was slammed onto the floor. Arthur saw stars through a mottle of black. And then he was hauled onto his feet again. A plastic sheet was placed where he had fallen only moments ago.

"What do you want?" Arthur prided himself in how composed he sounded.

The two men didn't reply and Arthur could not see their faces beneath the dark cowls and masks. One of them pulled out a gun while the other knocked the wind out of Arthur with a fist to his stomach. Arthur doubled over, collapsing in a loud rustle onto the plastic sheet. Why wasn't anyone—oh, right. Karen went home already.

The barrel of a gun kissed his sweat-soaked forehead seconds later. Arthur stared at his assailant, trying hard not to shudder or betray his thundering heart as he—

And then the gun disappeared along with its owner. A loud crash was heard against the wall. The cups had shattered and the liquid came pouring out onto the floor. A gentler hand was placed on his shoulder and it set him up against the sofa. Aaron.

His brother's face appeared in his vision. Aaron stepped over him and confronted the last assailant who was still conscious. Arthur had always known that Aaron was a fighter but he had only heard how good he was and never seen him in fights. However, he wasn't surprised when Aaron knocked out the man's light in a single punch. Then his brother dragged the two men onto the plastic sheet they had laid for Arthur. The two attackers were still breathing, unconscious but not dead, as Aaron wrapped them in the plastic sheet.

"Are you not going to kill them?" asked Arthur stiffly.

Aaron looked at him. "Not here."

"Good."

"Why don't you go wait in the car, Arthur?" suggested Aaron in a pleasant tone. "I will be with you in just a while."

Arthur nodded and stood. Then he left, but not before straightening his tie and smothering down the creases the attack had left behind. The hallway was darkened as he'd instructed Karen to do, seeing that it was late and Arthur would be seeing no more clients after she left. Usually, Arthur would leave before Karen would but Aaron's delay had altered his schedule. If only Aaron hadn't been late, then Arthur wouldn't have been attacked at all.

Arthur sighed. No matter. It was hardly Aaron's fault.

The elevator slid open soundlessly and Arthur stepped in. There was another man in there and Arthur couldn't help but hesitate. However, the man smiled at him kindly. "Good evening, Mr. Klause."

Arthur's gaze landed on the man's name badge. At that, Arthur relaxed slightly, finding it silly that he had been so paranoid. "Good evening, Michael."

Arthur entered the elevator. Michael was standing by the buttons so Arthur asked him if he could press the ground. It was then, as the door slid shut, that Arthur saw that no other buttons had been pressed prior to his entrance.

"Actually," Arthur said, "I think I left something in my office. Would you be so kind as to press the next level? I will take the stairs."

Michael smiled and turned slightly to face him. A glint of a knife was all he saw before it plunged into his stomach. It twisted. Arthur collapsed just as the pain hit in a wave of piercing agony. Michael didn't wait to see him die; the man left just as Arthur fell. Arthur's hands scrabbled. The buttons. On the elevator. Right, the buttons—there was one for emergencies. But they were too high. He tried, reaching. His fingers…Arthur blinked. No, he had to…stay awake.

"...Aaron…" he croaked, hating how pathetic he sounded. And then the last of his vision faded into black.

**Keylint, Wales. Ashford st. Townhall Apartments. August 7****th****. 8:30 P.M.**

Yassen was enjoying a worry-free sandwich when the news took a mildly surprising turn. He had been contemplating whether or not he should bring an umbrella—the news was on the weather forecast—when the reporter came on after the spinning 'Breaking News' animation.

"Arthur Klause, the founder of Klause Enterprise, was attacked just earlier inside the building," he was saying. "So far, two assailants have been found dead by self-defense while another remains at large. Mister Klause is currently in the hospital due to a potentially fatal knife wound. Currently, we do not know any other details but stay tuned as we cover this live…"

Yassen took a bite. Someone had tried to kill the man? Yassen took another bite. How particularly concerning. Was this Arthur Klause's way of getting out of the payment? Yassen didn't think so; the man did not have the confidence to go out like that. He simply was not that kind of man. Sly, perhaps, but willing to take risks? Certainly not.

By the table, his phone shuddered across the top. A call for Thomas Daniel. Yassen glanced at the caller ID but it provided nothing useful. He accepted the call anyway and waited for the caller to speak first.

"Hello?" a man said. "Is this…Mister Thomas Daniel?"

"You are?"

"My name's Zeng," said the man. "I'm wondering if we can meet up tomorrow. It's about what you saw."

"What did I see?"

"Let's not talk over the phone," Zeng suggested. "But it's about Arthur Klause if you're interested. I believe we can help each other out."

"I'm not interested."

"Why don't you listen to what we can offer?"

Yassen paused. "_'We'_?"

Zeng sounded excited that he had grabbed Yassen's attention. "Yes, it's not just me. Why don't we meet up tomorrow? Then you can decide whether or not you want our help. I'll even let you name the place and time."

Yassen set down his sandwich delicately. "You may have the honor." Zeng was most likely trying to gauge Yassen's approximate location, expecting the assassin to pick a location convenient and close to him.

"Alright then. How about the McDonald on Kings Avenue? I will be wearing a red tie and a black hat. Tomorrow, at 11 A.M.? "

"Why not?" Yassen agreed easily.

"I look forward to seeing you, Mister Daniel," said Zeng before hanging up.

Yassen put the phone back where he had picked it up and sat back, finishing the rest of his sandwich. The reporter was at the hospital and a crowd of cameras and microphones surrounded a figure by the doors to the hospital. It was Aaron Klause, the brother. The man looked angered as he brushed past the reporters to enter the hospital. Yassen knew it wasn't necessarily anger at the pestering news agencies but rather at Arthur Klause's assassination attempt.

Did someone figure out the truth behind Graham Cain's death? Was it why the man, Zeng, had contacted him? Yassen finished his sandwich, suddenly finding his worry-free evening gone like his sandwich. He got up and poured himself a cup of water; this deserved an early lights-out.

**Cartmire County, Wales. Produs Headquarter. August 7****th****. 9:00 P.M.**

Katherine heard the news and she immediately thought of Zeng. Of course it was Zeng; who else could it be? Who else would go through with such a sloppy assassination attempt? Two captured, one escaped. How well could the two detained stand questioning?

And Zeng had the audacity to come see her. The man waltzed into her office just as she was packing up, ready to go home and call it a day. She had planned to speak to Zeng tomorrow but it seemed like the man needed the lecture now. The chair sighed softly as she sat back down. Her bag clattered dully as she rested it atop the glass table once again.

"I told you to not go behind my back and conduct businesses like that," said Katherine. "Now look what you've done."

"Arthur Klause is pretty much dead," Zeng said, sitting down on the sofa.

"He's in surgery."

"He won't make it."

"Is that a wish or a fact?"

"...Look." Zeng didn't answer her question. "I trust my guys, alright? They said they can do it so they _will _do it. Even if the knife doesn't kill him, they will finish him later. A little mishap in the hospital room; nobody will notice."

"Why don't you pull back, Zeng? It's too risky."

"You need to take risks at times, Kat." Zeng eyed her. "I know you're afraid of being exposed but I promise you, none of this can be traced back to you. Traced back to me, maybe, but definitely not to you."

Katherine snorted. "I'm not scared of going to jail or dying if it means avenging my brother. I couldn't care _less_. What I'm afraid of is going to jail or dying _before _I have avenged Graham. You should be cautious too, because you know I rely heavily on you in all my plans."

Zeng sighed. "I know. I just don't want to see you upset."

"Do I look like I'm upset?"

"You bought an entire cake yesterday. That's binge-eating, a typical behavior you show when you're upset. If you don't call that evidence, I don't know what is."

"It was my neighbor's birthday, you dumbass."

"Oh." Zeng blinked. "But _still_."

Katherine chuckled with a shake of her head. Zeng's concern was heartwarming but applied at the wrong time at the wrong place. Growing up, Zeng had been her best friend, second only to Graham. If anything, Katherine was brought up more like a boy than a girl with the exception that Father would force her into dresses during holidays to visit families.

"Why don't you just lay low for the time being and stop following me around?" Katherine said. "And ask your people to not do anything either. We need a plan."

"You still hoping that Klause would admit to killing Graham?"

"In an ideal world, yes, and I'd like to _try _to achieve that at the very least."

"Fine." Zeng agreed. "But there's something important you should attend tomorrow."

Katherine glanced at her friend curiously. Important?

"I found the man whom Klause might be after," said Zeng. "He agreed to meet."

"Good."

"I know. Thank you." Zeng took his leave after the snide remark.

As Katherine watched her friend disappear behind the door, she knew that Zeng wouldn't cancel the hit on Arthur Klause. Zeng was a violent man despite his words; one side had to lose in any game he played. There were no ties, no sharing of the trophy, even if it meant himself being the loser. No, Zeng wasn't afraid of losing; he hated giving up without exhausting all the resources. And part of Katherine was glad because, despite her words, she did want Arthur Klause to die tonight.

**Keylint, Wales. St. Paul's Hospital. August 8****th****. 0:21 A.M.**

Aaron had grown up with Arthur. As brothers, they were inseparable despite the two years age gap. While Arthur chose to pursue a more materialistic future nearly a decade ago, Aaron had decided to hone his crafts as a mercenary. He would accept the oddest jobs—find stray cats, be a private eye, assassinate, work with the police as a consultant—anything to earn a living. Of course, once Arthur had heard, his brother had insisted to share with Aaron the wealth he had accumulated.

"We're brothers," Arthur had said. "What's mine is yours."

Aaron would do anything for Arthur without a word; he would go to the end of the world for his brother and he knew Arthur would do the same in a heartbeat. And right now, listening to the rhythmic droning of the cardiac monitor, Aaron wanted to rip to pieces the man who'd knifed his brother. Aaron liked to play games but this wasn't a game; it wasn't even a challenge. It was like somebody had invaded his space and made a mess when he was asleep without saying a word. And when he woke up, the intruder was already gone and Aaron's world slashed to ribbons.

In the bed, Arthur exhaled softly. The oxygen mask over his nose and mouth misted up. Aaron leaned his elbows on his thighs and ran his hand down his face wearily. The doctor had said Arthur was currently stable but tonight would be important.

"Why don't you take a nap?" a nurse who passed by suggested. "There's an available cot just next door."

"No thank you. I would like to stay here."

"Then would you like something to eat or drink?" she asked kindly. "Our food court is always open."

Aaron hesitated. It was past midnight and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long if he didn't get any caffeine or food—he had missed dinner and the hunger, along with the worry, was eating him alive from the inside. Arthur should be fine for the moment, Aaron thought. He wouldn't be long.

He decided to take the offer and stood. "If there are any changes, please inform me of the first instance."

"Of course." She smiled in understanding as he headed out.

The food court was on the same floor. The signs hanging from the ceilings led him effortlessly to it. Besides a few loitering visitors, it was empty. Clatters of metal plates sounded faintly in the back. There was a row of service windows but all except one was closed. A self-service station stood to the side. On the table, a coffee machine stood with a short kettle; upon closer inspection, he found it to be red tea. He poured the cold liquid into a cup and added a few cubes of ice from the dispenser. They plopped into the liquid and a few droplets jumped out. Aaron couldn't find a tissue so he wiped his hand on his shirt. It left a wet smudge, barely noticeable.

He downed the water in four gulps, letting the melting ice roam his mouth. It worked better than caffeine for the moment. Aaron blinked away the fatigue. For now, all he wanted to do was to stay by Arthur's side but he knew he had to find out who sent the men first. Aaron couldn't risk having Arthur attacked again—last time was due to his carelessness and it shouldn't have happened.

Was it the assassin whom Arthur had hired? Aaron's last few attempts at killing the man, Gregorovich, had been unfruitful. But Aaron doubted it was the assassin who had tried to kill his brother. After all, the assassin wanted money, not a dead body.

Gregorovich was a formidable opponent, Aaron could admit. He had thought it would be an easy task but he had severely underestimated the assassin. It was almost a shame to have him killed—Aaron was tempted to reconsider the kill order if Gregorovich were to stop pursuing the money.

If it wasn't the assassin, perhaps it was Cain's family out for revenge. Unlikely. The assassin was good at hiding his tracks; they could not trace it so easily to him. However, people often committed murders because they knew their flimsy evidence, if there were any, would not stand for anything in court. If Cain's family was after Arthur, they wouldn't wait for the police to collect all the hard evidence.

Aaron's first thought was Katherine Cain. Who else could it be but her? Katherine had the same predictable mind that her brother had had, ineptly meddling with mercenary works. It had been a flimsy attack, unlike the precision with which Gregorovich had carried out his task.

"Ms. Cain, you should have kept doing what you do best and not meddled with blood," Aaron mused.

It was then the shrill alarm sounded from his brother's room. Aaron threw his cup away and rushed back to the room. He nearly smacked into a nurse that was rushing out. Aaron sidestepped.

Inside the room, Arthur's monitor was screaming shrilly on a flat green line.

The nurses pushed him aside. They asked him to wait outside then pushed him outside gently when he didn't move. The curtains blocked his view and the nurses wouldn't let him in. Aaron needed to know if Arthur was all right but they refused to part with anything. He tried pushing his way in; they held him back. Aaron knew he could easily rip them apart like a mad man but it wouldn't do him any good. He wasn't a doctor. He couldn't help Arthur like this.

The nurse. Aaron suddenly remembered. The nurse he had run into. The nurse who was rushing out. Why was the nurse rushing out? No, the nurse had to have done something. It wasn't a nurse, wasn't it? Someone had disguised as a nurse. Aaron should've known. He shouldn't have left to get water.

Aaron paced the hallway, his curt steps the only sound betraying his frustration and frantic concern. He needed to be doing something. Not waiting. Never waiting. It was frustrating, not being able to do anything. Yet there was nothing Aaron could do to feel less frustrated and it only served to irritate him further.

He grabbed another cup of water.

**Keylint, Wales. Kings Avenue. McDonald. August 8****th****. 10:48 A.M.**

When Yassen had left his apartment, the news still had no updates on Arthur Klause's condition. He was alive, that was all they knew; the details were available to neither the news agencies nor the public.

Kings Avenue traveled in parallel to the 5th street. The McDonald was a short walk away from where Yassen had the taxi drop him off at. He paid the man the full amount in cash, down to the last penny, out of amusement. It had taken him a few moments to count out the coins but Yassen had time. He always had time.

Yassen had rarely frequented this part of Keylint; he had no reason to and soon he would have even fewer reasons to. As soon as Rothman received the money from Arthur Klause (or Aaron Klause, seeing that the older brother would be unable to operate his bank account for a while), Yassen would pack up and leave. Rothman already had a few jobs lining up for him and one of them was awfully near a beach; Yassen had always wanted to watch the sunrise.

In the very back corner, Yassen found Zeng seated beside a woman. Both were dressed in a mixture of proper and casual. As the woman lifted her head from adjusting the sleeve of her flannel, Yassen recognized her; Katherine Cain: Graham Cain's sister.

How curious.

"Mister Daniel?" Zeng asked when Yassen sat down, continued when the assassin offered a muted nod. "Thank you for meeting with us. It will be quick."

"What do you want to know?" asked Yassen.

Zeng exchanged a glance with Ms. Cain and inquired cautiously, "What do you know?"

"You will have to be more specific," Yassen replied, betraying none of his amusement. They seemed to believe that Yassen knew something of importance pertaining to Arthur. Yassen did not know where they drew the conclusion but it most likely had been a result of his own actions. After all, the assassin hadn't tried his hardest to cover up _all _of his steps.

"About Arthur Klause," Zeng continued. "We know that Klause is out to get you; that day at the cafe with the waitress and the bomb at the hotel, they're not coincidences."

Ah. _That_. Yassen had almost forgotten. "I don't know anything."

"But you admit that they're after you?"

Hardly. They were trying to threaten him, not necessarily kill him. They wanted Scorpia to stop pursuing the money. Yassen offered a small shrug. "No."

"...No? Then how do you explain all these events that happened around you?"

"I'm attractive."

Zeng coughed and Ms. Cain smacked her partner on the back a few times. From there, she decided to pick up the conversation. "It does not matter whether or not you admit to us. What is important, however, is that we can help you get out of it. We can stop their pursuit."

"Oh?" Were they offering to pay for Klause? Yassen mused. Money was just money either way; it did not matter from whose hand it came.

"But in return, you have to help us."

Yassen crossed his legs and laced his hands together. "I think you misunderstood me. There is nothing you can do for me."

"Our bodyguards are professional," Zeng offered. "We can have 24/7 protection instated for you."

"I like my privacy." Yassen shifted in his chair; the seat was beginning to grow uncomfortable pressing into his back. "Besides, there is nothing I can help you with. I know nothing if that is what you're after."

"Then why is Arthur Klause after you?"

"I never said he is after me."

Zeng made a noise of frustration.

"_But _if you're willing to pay, I can point out the flaw in what you have said."

Without hesitation, Katherine reached into her pocket and tugged out a five-pound. She slapped it on the table. Yassen glanced at the bill and then at her. Was she trying to buy information with a measly five-pound? Zeng snorted and added a ten-pound on top of it.

"I was thinking of something larger."

"How much?" Zeng asked skeptically.

Yassen frowned. If memory served him right, it was about... "Three hundred thousand plus two hundred for fare."

Zeng choked on his own saliva and Yassen shifted his chair a little to the right to avoid being spat on. "Three…hundred _thousand_?"

"Plus two hundred for fare." Yassen nodded. Rothman never specified who had to pay although it certainly went without saying.

"Then what can fifteen pounds buy?" Zeng tried to bargain.

Pitying the two, Yassen decided to part with a small piece. He leaned in quietly, his words almost drowned out by a piercing scream from a toddler throwing a tantrum. "It's not Mister Klause who's after me."

Then, Yassen swiped the fifteen pounds off the table, left the scent of greasy burgers behind, and went back home.

The trip was short for the traffic at this time was softer. Just as he closed the door behind him, his phone shuddered in his pocket. Yassen took it out with nimble fingers and answered it when he saw the caller ID.

"Ma'am."

"I'm sure by now you've heard of Arthur Klause's demise."

"I wasn't aware he is dead."

"No," Rothman agreed, "he's not dead. Not yet, anyway. But with the progression, he will soon be."

"Should I ask him for the payment one last time before then?"

"No. The payment we will receive eventually, but now is not the time. Do you know who was behind the attack on Klause?" She didn't wait for a response. "It was the sister. Katherine Cain. Soon, the media will catch wind of it and it will be unwise for you to remain."

"How so?"

"Seeing that Arthur Klause asked of our service before, he might do it again to get rid of Katherine Cain. We are a neutral party; we do not work for anybody nor will we take sides. If we do, we might as well renounce our position on top. Therefore, it is important that you do not accept any requests from either Cain or Klause."

"Cain? I wasn't aware the Cains know of us."

"All powerful businessmen have a certain friend with ties to us. If they are desperate enough, they will find us."

"I will leave Keylint tomorrow," Yassen said.

"Good." Rothman ended the call and—

_Speaking _of the devil. An unsolicited text message popped up.

_A job, G4? -AK_

Yassen replied. _Mother said to not speak to strangers. -G4 _Why was Aaron Klause contacting him?

_Will pay. _Aaron Klause sent. _Double._

Yassen thought about it. _Triple._

Aaron Klause refused. _Double. Not kill. Protection detail. _

Frowning, Yassen paused in replying. Klause wanted him to protect someone? If Yassen were to hazard a guess, it would be Arthur Klause. Strange that Klause was asking an assassin to watch over a dead man living.

And keeping someone alive? That certainly warranted _more _than triple the pay. _Quadruple. _

Klause didn't reply for a long while and Yassen had been expecting that. Even if Klause were to accept, Yassen would only increase the price. Rothman had demanded only seconds ago that he would not answer any requests from Klause. Yassen valued duty above a stranger who had tried to kill him.

_Fine. _Klause replied after another minute.

Yassen blinked. _Five times._

_Fine. _

_…Six times?_

_Fine._ Aaron Klause replied after a few long seconds._ But you are on thin ice, G4. _

Yassen's lips quirked up in a small smile despite himself. _Seven times?_

_Six and truce. _Klause negotiated. _You accept and I will stop coming after you._

How disappointing; Yassen enjoyed the game. _You're desperate. _

_Will you accept or not?_

After John Rider, it had been a while since Yassen had last felt so amused. It was nostalgic and bitter. And it had always been his weakness. Just this once, Yassen told himself. Rothman would see his side when she knew the money that was behind the job.

_I will. _

_Good. Meet me half an hour later at St. Paul's hospital. Fifth floor. Room 523._

Thirty minutes was plenty of time and Yassen was purposefully late by 8 minutes. It was unfortunate and he blamed it on roadside attractions. Eyes dark and red, Aaron was waiting in the room. Knowing that Aaron was deceptive, Yassen stood just outside the room and removed his sunglasses. The darkened room grew brighter all of a sudden. With a curt nod, Aaron gestured for him to enter and take a seat.

"I like to stand." Yassen refused.

"I won't kill you."

Once again, Yassen insisted. "I like to stand."

"Suit yourself." Aaron didn't persist after that and headed straight to his point. "Watch over my brother. Make sure he is alive and the money is yours."

"You are perfectly capable," Yassen inquired.

"There is something I have to take care of," Aaron's eyes darkened as he said. "Therefore I cannot be by his side every second."

Yassen's head tilted slightly to the side in consideration, ruminating Klause's words. "Who are you going to kill?"

"That is not something you should concern yourself with."

Yassen agreed. Six times the original plus a truce; all for a protection detail. Anybody would be glad to accept. No questions asked.

"Just make sure that my brother stays alive until I return," Klause said again as he brushed past him. "If anything happens to Arthur, you'll be wise to arrange your funeral before I do."

Yassen settled into his duty and chose a seat by the door. Arthur Klause was the sole patient in the spacious room so there was no need to worry about watching over any other patients. However, there was the problem of windows. For the moment, they were shut and thin veils of curtains were drawn over them. It would be difficult to get a view from the outside, scopes or not. Although, if they were to riddle the window with bullets, they would most likely hit Arthur Klause at least once, judging by the way the bed was situated.

Standing, he went over to the window and peeked out by drawing apart a section of the curtain. They were on the fifth floor and the window offered a modest view of the sluggish traffic. Around the hospital were buildings that were as tall as, if not taller than the hospital. They housed commercial companies and a few other small names. It was easy to get a vantage point but they would have to know which room Arthur Klause was in. Seeing that the room had yet to be swarmed with flashing cameras and microphones shoved in his face, Yassen could say that the room number had not been disclosed to the public. However, if they wanted Arthur Klause dead, a room number was the least of their obstacles.

Yassen closed the blinds and went back to his chair. The heart monitor beeped along quietly and the machines hummed to a lullaby. Although the assassin would much prefer the comfort of his apartment, he found that the hospital room was not a bad second choice. It was quiet; people here knew the importance of keeping it that way. Understanding his confined predicament, Yassen decided to kill time. From the table, Yassen chose a magazine out of the limited selection and borrowed the light from the small table lamp.

The first article, ironically, pertained to Cain's company, Produs. More specifically, it covered what Graham Cain would have covered on the premiere night: Pries. Scorpia agents operated with need-to-know details and the reasons behind the requests were not included in the package. But if Yassen were to hazard a guess, the product was the reason behind Arthur Klause's request. There was, however, no need for Yassen to hear the truth.

By the time Yassen had stopped counting the passage of time in seconds and instead in minutes, the assassin was beginning to feel agitated. It was almost three in the afternoon but Arthur Klause remained motionless. Although Yassen had expected nothing else from the man, he did wish for something else to do. This was one of the many reasons Yassen disliked protection details. He was sitting here waiting for the inevitable while usually, he was the one creating the inevitable.

Aaron Klause had implied that he was going to kill someone; if only the man had asked Yassen to do so, it would have been done hours ago.

Interrupting his mild brooding was a nurse who did not see Yassen as he entered. The man headed over to check on the monitors. It was then, as the nurse inched toward the drips, Yassen cleared his throat. It was comical, to say the least, to see the man started and jerked around so fast that Yassen pitied the whiplash the nurse then experienced.

Yassen stood and headed over to the bed. "When will Mister Klause wake?"

The man's hands dropped back to his sides. "Sorry but I do not know, sir. I'm sure it wouldn't be long. May I ask who you are…? You're not Mister Aaron Klause."

"He left 172 minutes ago. I'm here in his steed."

"...I see." The nurse nodded slowly. "Um, do you mind…?"

"Do I mind?"

The nurse gestured at the saline drip Yassen was blocking. "I need to check on that."

"Oh, I think it's just fine the way it is," Yassen replied.

"Excuse me, but I need to make sure it's dripping at the correct rate. The cap might have loosened or tightened and it is necessary that—"

"I'm sure nothing has changed since the last nurse's visit." Yassen checked the clock. "That was 336 seconds ago."

"...Oh."

"I mean no offense but." Yassen tilted his head slightly to the side and regarded the man. "Maybe you should reschedule your assassination."

The nurse took a few steps back in alarm. "W-What?"

"I saw the needle," Yassen said apologetically. "You should do it some other day instead with a better disguise."

He offered the man a way out but the man was not taking it. A glint and a hardened jaw were enough notices given before the fake nurse lashed out with a knife. Yassen danced sideways but kept himself between the man and Arthur Klause. Upon securing his position, Yassen grabbed onto the man's wrist tightly, forcing the knife to fall from his grip. The metal clattered loudly onto the floor but not loud enough to draw security. A foot came up to kick at him and Yassen caught it. Not wanting to ruin the hospital room, he delivered a quick blow to the assailant's neck, knocking him out.

The man fell onto the floor, eyes shut. Yassen picked up the knife and placed it in one of the drawers. Then he dragged the man onto the chair he had been sitting on. There were no ropes so Yassen could only pin the table against the man. If the assailant were to wake later, Yassen could always knock him out again. Or he could kill him, but Klause would want to have a talk.

Having surrendered his preferred seat, Yassen had to pick up the chair by the bed and moved it next to the attacker. Then, he picked up the magazine again and continued to wait for Klause's return.

**Cartmire County, Wales. Cartmire County Police Department. August 9****th****. 6:32 A.M.**

The media was having a field week.

First was Graham Cain, then Arthur Klause, and now, Molly and Carter Cain, the parents of Graham Cain. Not only had the news not stopped speaking in a rushed tone, but the police station had also been vivified since midnight when the attack had been reported. Molly Cain was dead and Carter Cain was in critical condition. The attacker had long escaped before the bodies were found and the person who had discovered them was none other than Katherine Cain.

To say that the media was having a field week was the _understatement _of the century. It was like money _raining _from the sky. News headlines like 'Cain and Klause Family Assaults. What is the connection?', 'Homicides befell', and 'Demise of Powerful Entrepreneurs' among others took over the papers and sites in a storm. And amid the thunders and lightning, the public was in chaotic confusion. Of course, the death was not relevant to them in their daily life, but they were all made uneasy by the chain of unresolved events of late.

This was Katherine Cain's second time visiting the police department. The same detective jotted down her statement but today, Katherine was not able to hide her clenched first and the livid fire in her eyes threatening to burn the policeman.

"You haven't even solved my brother's murder," Katherine said slowly, "and now my mother's dead. What are you planning to do, Mister Policeman?"

"I…We, we're trying our best, ma'am. As soon as—"

"_And what fucking good is your best_?" Her voice rose and she pushed it down. It was hard to swallow. It was so _hard _to swallow. Her breathing became quietly rapid as she stood abruptly, knocking the chair down in her haste. "What good are words if you can't keep them? Instead of your useless promises, I want the _killer_. If you don't find me who did it by the end of the week, I will have _all of you _stripped of your badges."

Zeng drove her to the hospital to check on her father because he didn't trust her to drive in her current state. The man glanced at her every now and then through the rearview mirror but didn't utter a word. Instead, he put on soft background music and tossed her a chocolate bar.

"Do you know who did it?" Katherine asked when she felt that her voice wouldn't shake anymore.

Zeng shook his head regretfully, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "But it has to be Klause. He's hitting us back."

"I told you. I _told _you to not do anything rash." Katherine kicked the passenger seat in frustration. "I told you, Zeng. Why didn't you listen? Why did you have to do it?"

"...I'm sorry."

"I don't need your apology."

"Regardless, it's my fault entirely." Zeng met her eyes through the mirror. "And I'm going to right it."

"You can't bring my mother back from the dead; you can't 'right' anything."

"I will finish Arthur Klause once and for all today," Zeng replied stiffly.

"You've failed twice already, Zeng. You will only make it worse." Katherine chuckled humorlessly. "But there's nobody left for Klause to target anyway beside my father. He'd killed Graham and mom…"

"I will hurt him right back," Zeng promised. "I will find everybody close to him and I will kill them myself."

"Say, Zeng…Why do you think Klause isn't killing me?" Katherine glanced at her friend. "He wants me to suffer, doesn't he? Because I tried to kill his brother."

"No, because _I_ tried—"

"_Stop, _Zeng. Just…stop and, for once, listen." Katherine shook her head. "Klause wants me to suffer and he has accomplished it. And I hate him for it. I want to personally see him bleed to death—but, Zeng, I need to stop."

"What do you mean, Kat?"

"If we retaliate, he will only hit back harder. I don't want anybody else to die so I'm not going to hit back this time. I can't risk it."

"_Katherine_." Zeng was surprised and angered. "You're just gonna let that bastard does what he wants? Remember, _he_ killed Graham first. Everything we do is _justified_."

"And _how _is an eye for an eye justified?" Katherine asked furiously. "Don't you get it, Zeng? You can attack all you want because you have nobody to protect. But I do. I have my father left. I have _only _my father left and I want him alive, alright? I will even _beg _if means keeping my father alive."

"Why?" Zeng pulled up to a sharp stop at the red light, slamming on the brakes. "Because you think I can't kill Klause? You think I'm not capable so you won't even consider it?" Zeng jerked around in his seat and stared at him with beseeching eyes.

Katherine stared back. "Yes, Zeng. That is _exactly _why."

"Fuck you, Kat," Zeng spat. "You were so giddy when I said I'll kill Klause for you. You acted like you're against it but you were so bloody happy on the inside, weren't you? And now, when things go wrong, you push all the blames onto me_ as if your hands were always clean._"

"I—"

"You can't control me, Kat. Graham was very much my own brother as he was yours and I have every right to seek revenge even if you don't want to. I will kill Klause and his brother. I will kill his family. I will kill his friends. And I don't care how _you _feel because killing them will make me feel so much bloody better."

"...You're crazy, Zeng. You're crazy."

"So what if I am? This is where I differ from you: I will never bow down to Graham's killer. No matter the price, I _will_ kill him. You just watch, Kat. You just watch."

**Keylint, Wales. St. Paul's Hospital. August 9****th****. 7:02 A.M.**

Aaron Klause invited Yassen to breakfast which the man had bought from outside. It came in two plastic bags: one for him, one for Yassen. Because Klause had deemed his brother still in peril, they had to dine in the hospital room.

When Aaron Klause had returned late last night, he had immediately gone back out to dispose of the fake nurse without another word. It was as if the man had been on a killing spree and Yassen could only draw the conclusion earlier that morning when the news of Cains' murder erupted over the TV. Yassen didn't ask any questions; he just ate his breakfast diligently.

When he finished, Yassen stood. "I'll take my leave now."

"To where? Your job is not done until my brother wakes up."

"If you're done with killing," said Yassen, "you can resume your duty by your brother's side. There is no need for me to be present."

"Who said I'm done with killing?" Klause asked calmly. "The people behind Arthur's attack are still alive."

"You will kill all of them?"

"Yes."

Yassen found it amusing. "It was your brother who ordered Graham Cain's death. If you persist in killing, they will likewise retaliate. It will only end when both sides meet their ends."

"I never asked for your opinion."

"But you asked for my help." Yassen offered a small shrug. "You should consider not going down that path if you want your brother to be alive."

"They should not have retaliated when Graham Cain was killed. They know what they did wrong."

Yassen watched the man curiously. "What did they do wrong?"

Klause turned. In the dark, his green eyes seemed to be glowing as he caught Yassen's cold blue gaze. The green then faded. Yassen blinked. The man pointed at his eyes. "This. This is Arthur's invention. This is what Graham Cain stole and tried to make it his own."

Ah. Yassen thought back to the magazine he read. "Eyes that can make the blind see."

"Arthur tinkered with it for years," said Klause. "I was born blind. Five years ago, Arthur finally reached the prototype stage. It was the first time I could _see_. Arthur was going to name it after me but Graham Cain stole the project as it was nearing its final stage." Klause didn't laugh but Yassen had the feeling that he would have as he added, "His ending, it's befitting a thief, is it not?"

Klause stood up and went to sit in the chair beside his brother's bed. It was as much of a dismissal as any so Yassen left the man to his thoughts. However, the assassin did not stray far from the room. He deposited the trash into the garbage bin just down the hall and returned to his place by the door.

Yassen did not know what to make of Klause's confession. It was not because Yassen was ambivalent but rather, he simply did not know Klause's intention behind it. A call for sympathy? To turn amicable their alliance? Although the reason was unclear, Yassen doubted there was anything he could provide Klause with.

"If we'd met under different circumstances," said Klause suddenly, "we would've been good partners."

Yassen didn't reply but his placid reaction was enough of a negative reply.

Klause looked at him. "Do you work only by yourself?"

Despite himself, Yassen immediately thought of John Rider. Perhaps once upon a time, he hadn't. The thought forced him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. In his line of work, every other man he met was either a traitor or a scapegoat that was meant to die. Nobody stayed long. And that was what made his work liberating.

"You can leave now," said Klause with a note of finality when Yassen once again remained silent. "The payment will reach you by the end of this week."

Yassen stood. "I will look forward to it."

**Keylint, Wales. Keylint Police Department. August 10****th****. 8:03 A.M.**

The two captured assailants who had attacked Arthur Klause committed suicide in their holding cells. The one that had fled remained an unidentified male. It was likely that they would try again so the police had offered around the clock protection to Arthur Klause. However, it was refused.

Cartmire County had reached out to establish a collaboration between the two departments. They hoped that if they combined their resources, they could find the killers behind all three cases quicker. And amid the investigation, the suspicion undoubtedly fell partially on the brother of Arthur Klause and the sister of Graham Cain. Revenge, after all, was a path easy to follow. But without evidence, there was not a case.

Due to the targeting of family members, the motives were personal rather than political. There was also the possibility that it was political-turned-personal. They needed to find the motives behind Graham Cain's death and then all else would gradually clear up themselves. Was it motivated by rivalry? As far as the connection went, Cain and Klause were no more than business rivalries. Beyond the competitive field, the two had no personal ties.

A phone rang. "You've reached Keylint Police Department."

"I would like to offer an anonymous tip."

"Which case?" Scuffling of paper was heard as the officer wearily reached for a piece of paper.

"Graham Cain," replied the other end.

"Please speak." There was no hesitation nor was there excitement in the officer's tone; they had received enough fraudulent and useless anonymous tips to last them a lifetime.

"Aaron Klause was born blind."

"...I'm sorry?"

The caller hung up without another word. The officer jotted it down regardless and set it aside. It wasn't until later when a detective came by did it make more sense. Not a lot, but it pointed them forward. It didn't take them a while to piece together to basics—an intellectual theft—but they still needed evidence. And Arthur Klause remained unconscious.

The speculation did not stay contained for long.

**Keylint, Wales. Ashford st. Townhall Apartments. August 10****th****. 8:34 A.M.**

Yassen was packing up. He folded the last of the shirts into the case and locked it shut. It was then placed on the bed. He gave the room one last survey, looking for anything that had escaped his net.

The survey was interrupted by a phone call from Rothman and, before Yassen had answered, he already knew it wouldn't bode well for him.

"I told you to stay away," said Rothman curtly. "Yet you went behind my back."

"He offered payment."

"Between that and my order, you should know which is more important."

Yassen sat down easily. "I'm leaving today. The flight has been scheduled."

"No, stay there." Rothman's reply came as a mild surprise. "Since you make us lose face, it is only suitable that you clean up your own mess." She hardened her voice as if trying hard to suppress an excoriation. "You have a new job—kill Aaron Klause."

There was a pause before Yassen asked, "And the client?"

"That is not need-to-know. Complete the job and report back."

"Yes, ma'am."

Yassen left his suitcase where it sat and went to retrieve the other briefcase containing his rifle. His plane would leave in 146 minutes; there was plenty of time. Knowing Klause, he was most likely still in the hospital room, sitting by his brother's bed. While Yassen had never seen Klause in close-combat, the assassin did not want to risk it, especially when hospital security was within a call away in the room. This left the adjacent buildings around the hospital.

He climbed up the stairs to reach the eighth floor whose height was equivalent to the fifth of the hospital. Evading the cameras or pulling still frames over them, Yassen slipped quietly into an empty room and locked it. He drew the curtain close until all that was left was a small opening by the opened window. He assembled the parts.

Although the hospital rooms were the same, Yassen identified the one Arthur Klause was in by counting. The curtains blocked his view as expected. Yassen took out his phone and sent a quick message to Klause.

_The curtain._

_? _Klause's reply came quickly.

_Open them._

_No. Safety concerns. _

Yassen sighed softly. _Show you something._

In retrospect, the assassin had not expected the blatant lie to work so well. Hesitantly, the curtain in room 523 was pushed slightly to the side. Not completely, but it was enough to see, from the scope, Klause's figure peering out. Yassen shut an eye and lined up to his target. The distance between Klause and the hospital window was close enough for Yassen to neglect the resistance the glass would provide. He settled down. His finger gently brushed against the trigger.

When a child gave a name to a stuffed animal, it became alive in the child's mind. It was a propensity that existed in almost every human being, or so Yassen told himself in the moment of hesitation.

_What am I supposed to see? _Klause asked.

Yassen didn't know what to say. In fact, he shouldn't even have read the message but it was too late. _There was a seagull._

The curtain was pulled swiftly shut again. Yassen slowly disassembled his rifled and placed it back in the case. When he arrived back in his apartment, he canceled the plane ticket and laid out his clothes again. He would need a little more time to do the job. The wind was strong today.

Aaron Klause asked him to come to the hospital later that afternoon, just as the sun kissed the top of the buildings and began its descent. Klause wanted to discuss a plan with him because the man proclaimed killing was Yassen's expertise.

"You had your revenge against the Cains," said Yassen slowly. "Why must you push them to the extinction?"

Klause did not strike him as a man without common sense—without humanity, perhaps, but not common sense. In terms of utilitarianism, Klause had already won back three folds what he'd lost. It wasn't revenge anymore.

"I cannot rest easy until the last of them is eliminated," replied Klause. "I'm confined to this room. And after Arthur wakes up, I will be confined to his side."

"He never asks for your protection."

"You don't have somebody you'd die for, do you? You don't understand." Klause looked at him. "Arthur shaped everything that I am today. If not for this pair of eyes, I will never be where I am today. So even if Arthur won't ask for my protection, I will be there."

"Have you ever asked your brother?"

"I don't need to."

Yassen didn't know who the victim was here: the brother lying in the bed or the brother confined by his duty. It was a pity, really. If Klause were to care a little less about his brother, he would be able to liberate himself. The trap Klause stepped in was crafted by himself, not by the Cains. Yassen took a sip of the water and set down the cup.

"I will pay you to kill the sister," said Klause.

"No." Yassen didn't need to think.

"Why not?"

Because he was sent to kill Klause, not to help him kill another. Besides, it wasn't Katherine Cain at fault, Yassen knew. It was the man by her side, Zeng. She was unfortunately dragged into something that she shouldn't have been dragged into. Although Yassen had no qualm killing her, it was not his job to kill her and he did not have to tendency to kill without a purpose.

"She does not deserve to die."

"And my brother deserved to?"

Yassen was put off by his tone. "When you kill a man, you have to expect consequences."

"But not you?"

A cold smile quirked Yassen's lips upward. "Don't test me, Aaron Klause."

It worked. The man took a mental step back respectfully. "If you won't kill her, I'll do it. You just have to watch over my brother tonight. Tomorrow, Katherine Cain will be dead." Klause stood abruptly.

"I hope you will reconsider." Yassen calmly said without looking at the man. "If you do not, I will not stay to watch over your brother either."

Klause turned, a frown on his face. Of course, Yassen had every right to decline the offer, seeing that his job had ended last night. Even if Klause were to refuse to pay, Yassen doubted that Rothman would lose any sleep over it.

But speaking of Rothman…perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Klause to go. Yassen could use the chance to take out Klause if he could lure Klause into going close-combat. It wouldn't be an issue, seeing that Carter and Molly Cain suffered from knife wounds and not bullet wounds. Because Klause made it personal, he would prefer a front seat to their death. And all Yassen had to do was to kill Klause and plant the gun in Katherine's hands. It was certainly not a bad plan.

"Fine," Klause said. "I will ask for the police."

Yassen gave him a quick quirk of his lips. "If only you had done that in the first place instead of spending money on hiring me."

Klause crossed his arms. "I trust you more than I trust them; I know at least you're not on the side of the Cains."

Well. Yassen did speak to Katherine Cain and Zeng a few days ago and he also did give them a clue as to who was behind the attacks if not Arthur Klause. It was perhaps flawed to say he wasn't on the side of the Cains.

"How do you know I didn't sell you out for fifteen pounds."

The man looked offended. "You don't look like the kind of people who sells information."

Huh. Did he not? What did people who sold information look like? Yassen returned to watching Arthur Klause's still body covered by the blanket. The rise and fall of his chest accompanied the hills and valleys of on the machine. He should take his leave now and track down where Katherine Cain would be so he could plan his trap. With the thought in mind, Yassen stood and left. Klause didn't stop him, although Yassen wished he had.

Yassen didn't have Katherine Cain's number and he did not want to search for it so he called Zeng instead. The man picked up after a few rings. "Mister Daniel."

"May I speak with Ms. Cain?"

"I'm not with her right now. Can I relay a message instead?"

Well. "No."

"Oh." Zeng paused. "Then is it urgent?"

Was it? "No."

"Well, why don't you come to Produs HQ tomorrow morning instead? She'll be there."

"I'd like to speak to her before tomorrow. Do you know where she is?"

After a few persuasion, Zeng told him she was at home. She was most likely not in a good mood either, Zeng added. It was a perfect setting for Yassen. He just had to stay hidden long enough for Katherine Cain to be killed and then shoot Klause from a relatively close, but hidden, position.

And then tomorrow he would be on the plane to his next mission. A beach, he hoped.

**Cartmire County, Wales. Cain's Residence. August 10****th****. 8:00 P.M.**

Aaron Klause slipped into the quiet house. The water in the pool rippled gently as a leaf landed atop, illuminated by the underwater lights. With Molly Cain dead and Carter Cain in the hospital, the house was empty beside their daughter (and perhaps a servant but Aaron Klause did not think of the Cains as those type of people). Essentially, she was defenseless—as her parents had been.

On the second floor, the shadow cast on the curtain moved. Knowing that there were undoubtedly heavy security measures in place, Aaron had carefully studied them beforehand to ensure he would not trigger any of them. With ease, he scaled the wall using ledges as supports. The light shone from inside so she did not see his figure until he broke through the window with a kick.

Because Katherine was by the window, the inward kick knocked both her and the chair behind her down. She landed with a soft cry. Aaron wasn't expecting any hard resistance and he did not receive any as he clamped down on her mouth, his other hand clasped around a knife.

If she died, all his troubles would be gone. Arthur would be able to live freely again.

Katherine squirmed in his grip, eyes wide, and tried to kick out. Aaron snorted. He plunged the knife into her midriff or he was about to when the bedroom door slammed open and he heard a gun cocked in his direction. He leaped off her and took shelter behind the table just as a shot embedded itself in the wall behind him.

"You are bold, Klause," spat the Chinese man who had taken the shot at him. "How dare you come here? But no matter, after I kill you, I will kill your brother. I will finish the job I messed up."

Katherine scrambled up from the floor and the man pulled her behind him, gun still raised. Aaron did bring a gun but, until he could find a better barricade, Aaron did not want to test how fast the man could fire.

The wood splintered at the next shot. The man advanced. Aaron caught only a glimpse of Katherine running out of the room before another shot grazed his cheek like a searing knife. Aaron ducked and rolled to the side, drawing his gun out as he did. Unlike the man, Aaron did not have a suppressor on the muzzle and he knew a shot fired from his gun would immediately disturb the quiet neighborhood. And Katherine wasn't in the room; it would be a wasted bullet. Aaron clenched his jaw.

"_Come out_, Klause," said the man.

Aaron quietly shifted to the other end of the desk, evading the soft footsteps of the man. He had two choices: take a shot and risk alarming the neighbors, or hide until he was shot.

Neither seemed appetizing but the former less so than the latter. Aaron pinpointed the man's position with his footsteps and popped up. He took a shot. The man jerked back in surprise, the bullet catching him by his left shoulder. The sound was explosive. The man spun around and fired his own at Aaron. The desk broke in half and collapsed onto the ground. One of the shots had missed and blew out the window. The glass shattered and rained down in clatters onto the wood floor.

A third voice joined the sudden predatory silence. "I was hoping you would not shoot."

Gregorovich. Why was the man here?

"Mister Daniel?" The Chinese man seemed to know the assassin as well. "What are you doing here? No, leave this to me. Go find Ms. Cain for me. I will deal with this intrud—" There was a small click.

The man's body fell onto the ground. Aaron looked up just in time to see Yassen putting away his gun. The assassin turned and headed out and Aaron had to follow. In the distance, a siren began wailing but Gregorovich came prepared with his car.

They were about halfway back to Keylint when Aaron broke the tense silence. "Katherine Cain. Did you kill her?"

"No."

Aaron turned sharply from the passenger seat. "What? We have to turn back. She saw my face."

"I know."

"What do you mean 'you know'?" Aaron glanced back the way they'd come. Under the darkness, it was impossible to identify drivers in the cars rushing by. However, there didn't seem to be any police following.

Gregorovich did not say a word but it was the first time Aaron saw weariness on the assassin's face. It was only because of that Aaron pulled himself back and did not argue. Instead, he asked, "Why did you come? How did you know I was there?"

"I came to tell you that your brother has died."

**Cartmire County, Wales. Cartmire County Police Department. August 11****th****. 8:30 A.M.**

Two bodies had been found in Cain Resident. One was a local man named Richard Zeng and the other Katherine Cain. While Mr. Zeng was murdered, it seemed like Ms. Cain's death was by suicide. The house had been broken into but nothing was taken. The police suspected that it was a murder-suicide but there was no evidence pointing Ms. Cain as the perpetrator.

Zeng and Ms. Cain had been childhood friends and there were no reports of disputes between them. It was only possible that the Zeng was killed by the killer of Molly Cain. In addition, the police urged that people come forward if they have any information regarding the case.

Carter Cain remained in a coma.

**Keylint, Wales. Keylint Police Department. August 11****th****. 8:30 A.M.**

Renowned entrepreneur Arthur Klause had passed away in the hospital earlier this morning at 04:16 A.M. There were no signs of foul play.

Facing the fall of both enterprises, citizens took to the street in sorrow and mourning. Although no violence had been reported, police urged that citizens stay indoors in order to not hinder traffic and disrupt the workday.

**Keylint, Wales. Carl's Bridge. August 11****th****. 9:30 A.M.**

It was 6 minutes past their scheduled time. Yassen wondered if Klause was going to stand him up. He watched the lake beneath the bridge, waves rippling across its surface as a drift of wind blew past. Rothman was giving him one last chance to complete the job and she had not been happy when she'd called. After all, Katherine Cain had died. Yassen did not cause her death for she had hung herself, but it was inevitable that the other corporations now saw Scorpia as an agency with biases. It was Yassen last chance to prove himself or he would be killed to cleanse their name.

A taxi pulled up by the start of the bridge and Klause got out. The brother of the entrepreneur walked over and stopped when they were a couple of meters apart. "Apologies, G4, the taxi was late."

It was now or never. Yassen drew his gun before Klause had registered what it was. And then Klause fell just as it registered. There was a hollow thud as the body landed.

Yassen walked closer and knelt.

"You…" Klause stuttered, eyes wide in betrayal. It was as if he had seen Yassen as a friend.

"I'm sorry," said Yassen quietly, letting the wind blow away his words. He wasn't sorry.

And as the man's eyes slid shut, Yassen dialed Rothman and told her he had completed what she'd asked of him.

* * *

**Epilogue**

**Undisclosed location. December 24****th****. 1:00 P.M.**

The rooftop door was eased open quietly. The humming of electric boxes accompanied the soft footsteps. The boots crossed the rooftop in even strides and stopped at the edge when they were centimeters away from touching the wall. The man set down a black briefcase. A black, gloved hand pushed open the lid and set to assemble the rifle. 132 seconds.

When it was ready, he set it down on the floor. The man laid flat on the ground, supported himself up on his elbows, and leaned his cheek against the butt of the rifle. He looked into the scope and lined his sight to Target One. The wind was picking up.

The rooftop door opened again. The man did not turn around to look but he heard the footfall as its own made his way to the man. A brown case was set down, hands set to assemble the second rifle. When both the rifle and its holder were in position, the newcomer informed in a low voice, "K4 in position." The second rifle had no scope but the newcomer angled the muzzle with precision at the vacant room, eyes glowing green and magnifying the view. Patiently, they awaited the arrival of Target Two.

"You're late," said the first man.

"Apologies, G4, the taxi was late."

G4 couldn't help but sigh, his eyes not leaving the scope. "Let it go, K4."

"You shot me," K4 replied.

"It was essential that your death appeared realistic."

"That did not warrant you to—"

"Quiet," muttered G4 abruptly. "Target Two has arrived."

182 seconds. Right on time.

Yassen smiled.


End file.
